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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25445992">take your luggage, leave your baggage</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrenchwench/pseuds/wrenchwench'>wrenchwench</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Prompt: Train, THFF, TMA Hiatus Flash Fanwork</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:22:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>558</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25445992</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrenchwench/pseuds/wrenchwench</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>LNER KGX TO EDI, 2 TICKETS, TABLE SEAT, SECOND CLASS.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives Flash Fanwork Challenge</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>take your luggage, leave your baggage</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They'd managed to get a table seat, although how Basira had even gotten them on the train on such short notice was beyond Martin. The LNER was usually booked in advance, but she'd shoved them through the barriers in no time, their meagre bags clutched in their arms, heads still cloudy with fog and fear. She'd had a bruise on her head, peeking out from her olive-green hijab, and Martin had wanted to ask her if she was okay, but there had been no chance to. They'd been out of the Lonely for barely three hours, and there hadn't been much opportunity for catching up.</p><p><em>The next stop is - DUNBAR,</em> said the automated voice, and the woman across the aisle's head lifted. She shoved her book into her purse, swiping away crumbs from the fold-down table in front of her, and dragged her little suitcase away and down the aisle to the doors. The train pulled in, the doors opened... and just like that, for the first time since leaving London, there was nobody else in the carriage. Outside, the heavy rain was giving way to mist. The train pulled out of the station, and then he could barely see any signs of life out of the window at all. Martin's hands began to tremble. They were alone.</p><p><em>They</em> were. He and Jon. Jon, sitting next to him in the window seat, Jon with his legs tucked up into his chest, his knees pressed against the table, his boots discarded beneath their seats, sleeping. That Jon.</p><p>His head was resting against Martin's arm. He could feel the warmth of it, even through his thick jumper, which didn't really make much sense. Martin had always run warm, even as a child, and he knew for a fact that Jon kept a blanket in his office to wrap around himself to stave off the cold, and his hands were always much colder than they should be (poor circulation, he'd admitted once, when Tim had commented on it, and Martin had had to stop himself knitting Jon little fingerless gloves). So it stood to reason that Martin shouldn't be able to feel how warm Jon was, didn't it?</p><p>Unless the Lonely still had him.</p><p>Unless they'd never really left. Or at least, Martin hadn't. He'd brought it here, with himself, carried in his chest like a bomb, like a sickness.</p><p>From beside him, there was movement. Jon's hand groped across the table sleepily, and Martin glanced around for what he might be looking for.</p><p>"Here," he said, handing him the bottle of water.</p><p>"Thanks," said Jon, discarding it and lacing together their fingers. Martin froze. Jon squeezed, then turned his face into Martin's shoulder and muttered something.</p><p>"What?" said Martin, still staring at their hands. He wasn't quite sure what he was questioning.</p><p>"I said, sorry my hands are cold," said Jon, finally opening his eyes and looking up at him. He had a line across his cheek where Martin's jumper had pressed, and his hair was a mess. The dark circles under his eyes were prominent, and despite his brown skin, he looked pale. Martin's chest tightened, and in a moment of impulse, he lifted their hands and pressed his lips to where their knuckles criss-crossed. Jon took a shaky breath, and Martin swallowed.</p><p>"You feel pretty warm to me."</p>
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